Arya's Pain
by Hellstarz
Summary: In some ways, Arya is the most mortal of all creatures. After all, Time cannot heal all wounds.


The beginning is based on the conversation that Arya and Eragon had whilst travelling through the Empire. I actually really liked this chapter – It gave us a huge sense of depth toward Arya's character. Picture the quotes as flashbacks.

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"_We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial." – _Philip James Bailey

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_Did you love him?_

Behind her eyes, a cascade of warring emotions sought to penetrate her seemingly impervious pretence towards life. Each word was like hammer blows against her skin; against her _mind. _Arya could never be sure if she had ever loved anything.

What _was _love? She saw it as a weakness. If she had loved, it had been a long time ago and her greatest failure. How could she dare love again? Eragon offered his affection – But that was nothing. Would he understand? She doubted it. He was young – And in more ways than one. Perhaps, even by her own people's standards, she was young in years, but she was so very _old _in her mental state. Even now, her sorrow wanted nothing more than sit still and be as a tree; mysterious, old, and silent.

_Do you ask out of concern or your own self interest?_

At that moment, she was consumed – She could contain herself no longer, and she gave an abrupt, choked laugh. She feared for herself, and Eragon – If they ever became something, then anguish would surely be their only reward. She did not want to harm him; he was so very young.

_Never mind. The night air has addled me. It has undone my sense of courtesy and left me to say the most spiteful things that occur to me._

In some ways, it was a mistake. She remained desperate to solve her sorrow – She feared that is would consume her – And in the end, him. Could he help? In his innocence, he knew little words that could offer any solution. It was better to keep him out of her pain, lest it become infectious.

_No matter._

Did he know? She checked her mental barriers – All remained up, and tense. Any passing magician would assume she was fearful of mental attack. In some ways, this was true – But it was not from a foe, and she did not fear for her life – There was precious little left of it now, anyway – But her secrets. She could destroy a man by allowing them to _see _her. Her mind was her last refuge, her greatest fear, and her greatest weapon.

_It does matter, because I regret it, and I shall not tolerate it. Did I love __Fäolin? How would you define love?_

It meant more to her then he knew, or so she thought. She was somewhat scared by her own feelings. In some ways, she guessed she would never come to conclusion about her affection for Fäolin – She would have to decide for herself whether she loved him. And even now, she had back; The concept that she had _loved_ and then lost was too much for her. Perhaps, for now, she could deny it to herself for just a while longer.

_For over twenty years, we travelled together, the only immortals to walkamong the short lived races. We were companions...And friends._

It was true enough. Those times had been a kind of warm hazy glow for her – She, despite being fearful of Galbatorix, had fallen in with Fäolin and Glenwing and enjoyed their company. She had been relaxed...And happy. She wished that Eragon had appeared then – Life would of been so much easier, and, for all his mistakes and feelings, was someone to talk to, and very different from the two elves. It would of been the time of her life. Or at least, had it been? _Over twenty years._ She gazed up, but saw no stars. Memories consumed her eyes – The egg – Two hazy figures leaning against a tree; Falling, but being caught; Laughter – Carefree, honest, _hers. _Again and again, they played across her mind –The music of herself changing – Rippling tones, to single chimes. The Sega of her life, behind her glowing emerald eyes. Her story. Her past. It was long gone now. It was a different Arya, she was sure. Would she ever return? She didn't know**.**

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Arya lay, looking up at her tent. Her mind was fighting a losing battle to accept her fate. With some will, she blinked, and merely mouthed _I loved him._ For a split second, her mindscape fell silent – And then calm acceptance drifted over her, following by an absolute numb. She had lost so much.

What else did she have to lose? Herself meant very little to her now. The only hope in this darkness were her friends. Eragon, Saphira, Nasuada and the others. To a certain extent, Izlanzadi, but it was muffled, and full of spite. Anger and shame.

But throughout her hate, she could only remember her mother's love. She had been hurt, it was true, but she had been loved by many – But never by herself.

Her final thoughts, as she drifted into a familiar waking consciousness is the irony that so many loved her for all the wrong reasons.

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Short, but I don't regret it.

We know so little about Arya – So much that we have experienced of her is a lie, that in some ways, this is all I can write. I'm not sure what people will think of this – Arya is a character torn between two different lives, and describing her is so immensely difficult that I deeply respect the real fanfictions that make a good job of it.

Needless to say, I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. I didn't really expect the mental challenge that this offers. My idea of Arya might be very different from yours - I just don't know.


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